


small surrender

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Isolation, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, eating disorder mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur lives alone in the woods. Merlin is his new neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	small surrender

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit angstier than I planned? My aunt mentioned wanting to scare her new neighbor off by putting up pictures of old people having sex and somehow that became this. That is not even slightly was this is. It's a bit angsty, but I hope you like it!

There was a knock on Arthur’s door.

This was suspicious behavior in itself; no one ever came to Arthur’s neck of the woods. Quite literally, seeing as his house was in the middle of a goddamn forest, towering pines secluding his home from the surrounding area. There were towns nearby, but they were all at least fifteen miles away, and Arthur’s house was buried deep enough in the shrubbery that it was hard to get there without knowing where it was.

And very few people knew where he was.

And it wasn’t like the cats could knock on the door.

Or maybe they could, Arthur tried to convince himself as he stood up from his soggy oatmeal that sat forlornly on the old rickety table where he ate most of his meals. Bob was a feisty sort; if any cat could learn to knock, it was him.

Arthur had glass double doors, so he was able to peek around the corner to get a quick glimpse at the figure standing there. It looked to be a young man, maybe around Arthur’s age, tall, skinny, and with dark hair. He was standing expectantly at the door, and rapped again when Arthur remained silent.

Unfortunately, not all of Arthur’s childhood mannerisms had vanished; he still knew how to be polite.

Well, sort of.

He strode to the door with quick confidence, throwing it open and drawing himself up to his full height, hoping to look impressive and intimidating, what with the hopefully feral glint in his eye that said ‘do not mess with me if you want to live’.

The man on the porch, sadly, seemed undaunted by Arthur’s rage, and simply smiled over at him. He had an easygoing face with stubble a few days old, his eyes bright. Arthur blinked a few times, not used to seeing a friendly face.

“Hi, I’m Merlin,” the man stuck out his hand. Arthur hesitated for a moment before taking it. When was the last time another person had touched Arthur? “I’m Gaius’s nephew.”

“Oh,” Arthur said noncommittally, though his interest was drawn. Gaius lived nearby, and was one of the only people Arthur saw somewhat regularly. He was a solid old man, a no-nonsense type, but still somewhat grandfatherly. He always checked in on Arthur to make sure he was doing alright, and Arthur did the same for him.

“He’s just been moved to a nursing home – and believe me, it was a right trip trying to get him out of these woods,” Merlin said with a slight eye roll, and Arthur’s hackles rose. He didn’t like city people who judged those who preferred the outdoors. Never mind that he had once been one of those people himself. “But it’s better for him with his arthritis. Anyway, he left me his house so I figured I’d come and meet my new neighbor.”

“You’re going to be staying out here?” Arthur said, blinking, the words not fully processing in his brain. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. An old man living nearby was one thing. But someone so similar in age to Arthur…maybe even similar in background…that could prove to be complicated.

Arthur didn’t like complications.

“For a while, yeah,” Merlin nodded. “I’m a writer – well, I use the term loosely. I don’t actually get a lot of writing done. Which is why I’m taking a sabbatical from my life and coming out here – I’m trying to finish my book.”

Arthur should have asked what the book was about, where Merlin was from, how long he planned on staying –

But his social cues were a bit rusty, so all he said was “Oh.”

Again.

Merlin blinked at him, offering a sort of nervous half-smile as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of Arthur. First impressions and Arthur hadn’t even gotten along back in his days of classes and business meetings.

“You never told me your name,” Merlin said after a moment of awkward silence.

“Oh – Arthur. My name’s Arthur.”

Merlin smiled, and this time it was a full one. “Nice to meet you, Arthur. I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime soon.”

Arthur wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to, but he nodded at Merlin with what he hoped was a smile as the man vacated his property and Arthur could breathe easily again.

* * *

 

“I brought you a casserole.”

“What?”

Merlin’s standing at Arthur’s door for the second time that week, holding up a pan of what looks like something vaguely cheesy, though Arthur can’t be sure. He squints at Merlin, not being able to read his carefree smile. What was he doing here? What was he trying to get out of this?

“Casserole,” Merlin lifted up the pan. “See, it’s what you do when you get a new neighbor. And I figured you were too shy to do it yourself, so I decided to make you one. I’m a pretty rubbish cook, but I can follow a recipe alright. Can I come in?”

Arthur blinked, dumbfounded, but moved aside to let Merlin into the house. It was a small place, but spacious enough, with big leather couches next to a large television set, because goddammit if Arthur wasn’t going to take advantage of modern amenities no matter where he lived. The kitchen was a little messier and less classy, with Arthur’s dirty dishes everywhere.  A short hallway led to a bedroom and a bathroom, but all in all, it was modest without being pathetic.

“Nice place you have here,” Merlin commented idly as he waltzed past Arthur as if he did this every day. “Should I put this somewhere, or are you going to invite me to stay?”

Merlin chuckled a bit at the look on Arthur’s face, which must have been shocked and a little mortified. “I don’t mean to presume, you know. It’s just that I think social interaction would do you some good. You seemed rather inept at putting words together last time I saw you, which makes me think you’ve been alone up here for a long time. So I think you need a friend. Besides, I’m going to go mad within a week in Gaius’s cabin if I don’t find someone to talk to.”

“I –” Arthur’s voice stuck in his throat.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, voice a bit regretful, though it was still easy and somehow affectionate. He scuffed his shoe against Arthur’s hardwood floor. “I’ll just leave the casserole with you and go.”

“You can stay,” Arthur’s voice acted of its own accord, against what his muscles wanted him to do, what they were so accustomed to doing, which was avoid, avoid, avoid.

Merlin smiled softly over at him as if he was _grateful_ , and it really had been too long since Arthur had spent time with another person. “You don’t have to feel obligated to.”

“No,” Arthur forced himself to shake his head. “I really don’t mind. Thank you for the food. I could heat it up? We could eat together?”

“Sure.”

-

“So, how long have you lived here?”

Merlin had stayed quiet as Arthur set the table and grabbed a half-eaten carton of spinach to go with the casserole, but when Arthur sat down, his mouth immediately started moving again. Arthur had the feeling that Merlin was a talker – he had been so open and free with his emotions before, words rolling easily off his tongue. Arthur hoped that it would compensate for the lack of talking he would surely accomplish tonight.

“Six years,” Arthur answered, because that was at least an easy and direct question. He knew the next one wouldn’t be, judging by the way Merlin’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wow, really? You can’t be more than – what, thirty?”

“Thirty-one,” Arthur corrected him.

Merlin shook his head in wonderment, but there wasn’t the usual accompanying judgement in his expression that Arthur tended to find in people who knew his story. “What makes a twenty-five year old decide to come and live in the woods? Especially one like you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur snapped, and Merlin’s eyes turned apologetic.

“Nothing, I just – I mean, look at you!” Merlin flapped an arm in Arthur’s general direction, nearly spilling his glass of water. “I’ve been here for less than a week and I already look like more of a mountain man than you. You’re clean cut, clean-shaven, pristine – if you traded your t-shirt for a suit jacket you’d fit right in with the London bigwigs.”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Arthur shrugged and Merlin squinted curiously at him.

“I’m guessing there’s a story there,” Merlin said. “You alright with telling me? I won’t push or anything.”

“I – maybe some other time,” Arthur muttered uncomfortably, because for a moment, he actually _wanted_ to tell Merlin, with his bright eyes and infectious smile. Arthur hadn’t told anyone this story – others knew it, of course, but they had been characters in the great tale of Arthur’s downfall, not a simple onlooker years after the incidents.

“No problem,” Merlin grinned and Arthur felt something stutter in his chest. “Do you like living here?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered truthfully. “It’s…quiet. Not as fast-paced as the city. I can hear myself think.”

“Do you have a job, or…?” Merlin let the question trail off.

Arthur shook his head. “Nope. Retired at twenty-five. This…this was my mother’s cabin.”

“How do you have money for like, groceries and such?” Merlin asked, and it was genuine curiosity in his tone, not judgment inflicted upon Arthur’s life.

“I come from a well-off family,” Arthur said, careful not to add any incriminating information to the statement.

“Aren’t you a lucky one,” Merlin smiled brightly, not put off at all by Arthur’s inability to be fothcoming, at least not visibly.

“And you?” Arthur asked, wanting to veer the conversation in another direction. “Do you like it here?”

Merlin nodded vigorously, gesturing with one of his long-fingered hands as the other one scooped casserole into his mouth. “Like you said. It’s a nice escape from the city. I don’t know if I could be here for six years, but I like it so far.”

“How long are you staying?” Arthur asked; he had the urge to want it to be for a long time, though he didn’t know where that thought was coming from.

Merlin shrugged. “Until I finish my book, I suppose. That might be two weeks or two years – who knows?”

 _Two years_ , a small voice whispered quietly, thrumming quietly against Arthur’s chest. _Let it be two years._

* * *

It’s the voice that convinces Arthur he has to do something – _anything_ – to get Merlin to get the hell out of his corner of the world.

The voice likes Merlin. The voice likes Merlin _a lot_. But Arthur’s not comfortable with that kind of feeling, with that kind of openness, with that kind of overwhelming _want_ to be close to someone. There’s a part of him that wants Merlin around, all the time, whether Arthur’s making dinner or watching a movie or brushing his teeth.

And then there is a much larger part of him that is _terrified_ of the fact that he wants Merlin around for all of these things when Merlin is so clearly not a permanent fixture in his life and he will doubtlessly seep into an even deeper loneliness and depression than the last six years had created.

But Merlin started coming over to Arthur’s, often, always with a bright smile and an offer to help Arthur with anything – splitting wood, mowing the grass, planting the garden – and Arthur can’t help but let him.

Sometimes they work in companionable silence, other times with Merlin’s constant blathering as background noise, and once in a while, they’ll have a nice, genuine conversation.

It has to end.

Arthur doesn’t know what he can do to get Merlin to leave; the man is so bloody friendly. No matter how uptight and distant Arthur was, Merlin always seemed to find a way around it.

“Where do you want this?”

Despite the fact that Merlin was carrying a heavy pile of firewood, he still seemed to saunter over to Arthur, unaffected as ever by the elements around him, in his own little Merlin-bubble where everything was happy and serene.

Arthur jerked his head over toward the small makeshift shed that he had built his second summer here. It was where the cats lived because even though Arthur loved the stupid, furry creatures, they would definitely not be sleeping in his house.

Judging by the noise of delighted surprise that echoed across the yard a moment later, Merlin had found the cats.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had kittens?” Merlin’s voice went soft around the edges as he knelt to the ground, firewood cast aside in favor of scratching Uno’s belly, purring emanating from the tiny cat.

“You’re such a girl, Merlin,” Arthur muttered under his breath as Tres sidled up against his leg, and he had to lean down to scratch her ears.

Merlin didn’t respond, too busy cuddling with Uno. “What are their names?”

“The three black and grey ones are Uno, Dos, and Tres,” Arthur explained, eyes searching out Dos hiding in the nearby grass at the sight of a stranger. “And then Bob’s around here somewhere.”

“Bob?” Merlin laughed, openmouthed, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “That’s a rather uncreative name for a cat.”

“It stands for Big Orange Blob,” Arthur said, strangely proud of the fact that he wasn’t just a boring stick in the mud, that he was funny and clever, if Merlin’s snort was anything to go by.

“How’d you get them? I can’t see _you_ stopping by a pet store.”

Arthur’s younger self might have taken offense to such a jibe, but Merlin’s statement wasn’t said with judgement – it was said with, well whatever Merlin used to make his words sound so calming and teasing.

“Their mother was a stray around here, and when she died, I took the cats.”

Merlin made an ‘aww’ sound again. “So you do have _someone_ out here, even if none of your companions are human.”

“I have you, don’t I?” The words spilled out of Arthur’s mouth before he could help himself, and realized that even if Merlin left, it wouldn’t be because Arthur drove him out. Arthur could never do that. He had been so, so lonely until Merlin showed up to invade his life, and he didn’t want to get rid of him.

He knew Merlin would go eventually, but Arthur wanted him here as long as he could.

Merlin grinned at him, a little cocky and a little sweet. “But do I _count_ as human? Science would tell you yes, but I think any human being you’ve ever met would assure you that I am not of the same species as them.”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Merlin…shouldn’t you be working on your book?” He asked after a moment, the thought only just occurring to him. “I mean, it’s what you’re here for, and it seems like you’ve been at mine all week…”

Something flashed in Merlin’s eyes before they returned to easygoing, and he shrugged his shoulders and said “Eh. I’ve been putting off my book for years. I can put it off awhile longer. Can the cats come in the house?”

Arthur noticed the abrupt subject change, and realized a moment later that for all Merlin liked to talk, he really didn’t like talking about himself.

Which was, in part, why he answered “Yeah, sure” – his usual no-cats-on-his-hardwood-floors notwithstanding.

Arthur made dinner while Merlin played with the cats, and Arthur had to stop himself from asking Merlin to stay when the other man gave him a cheerful wave as he began to trek back to his own cabin.

* * *

 

“All I’m saying is, you’ve been in this cabin for a long time, Arthur!”

“I’m fighting fit!” Arthur argued, voice full of rage, but warm feelings spread through his stomach as he shoved at Merlin’s shoulder as they hiked the trail back to Arthur’s cabin. “I walk this trail every day! I go for runs, I lift weights –”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Merlin snorted, holding up his hands in mock defense. “One may assume that your eagerness to defend yourself hides latent insecurities…”

Arthur’s smile must have turned fixed, because Merlin’s eyes narrowed in concern and he put out a hand to stop Arthur from walking further. “Arthur…Did I hit too close to home on that one?”

Arthur hesitated.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Merlin’s eyes were steady and the grip on Arthur’s arm relaxed into something gentle, a caress without the movement.

“My father,” Arthur swallowed before saying anything else, swallowed the bitter taste and the overflow of old, forgotten feelings, “was a strict man. He…he wouldn’t never let his children be anything short of perfection. He would…no matter what I did, it just…wasn’t enough for him. My marks were never good enough, my friends were always terrible in his eyes, and – and he had me working out nearly every day from the time I was thirteen. Never let me have any fattening food. Called me some names I’d rather not repeat.”

“Christ, Arthur,” Merlin sucked in a breath, his eyes overflowing with kindness, but not pity – never pity, not from Merlin, never quick for judgment.

It could have been that fact that kept Arthur talking, but maybe he just needed to say this, after all these years. “I had an eating disorder from the time I was fifteen until I was nineteen. I couldn’t even – couldn’t even get help for it unless it was behind his back.”

“I am _so_ sorry,” Merlin’s eyes didn’t leave Arthur’s for a second, wide and regretful. “Look, I – I’ll tease you a lot, that’s just how I am, but the _second_ I say something that out of line again –”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur meant for it to come out as a growl as he clocked Merlin lightly on the back of the head, but to his ears, it sounded a lot more mushy and affectionate than he’d meant it to be.

Maybe he had meant it.

Either way, Merlin gave him that small half-smile that asked if all was forgiven, and Arthur shoved him along the trail in response.

* * *

 

“You should come over to mine, watch a film – all you have are oldies. And while, as they say, oldies are goodies, I bet you haven’t seen Birdman yet.”

“Haven’t heard of it,” Arthur pretended to sound absentminded, but his heart thumped a bit in his chest as he used his attention to scour the fridge for cottage cheese and not look in Merlin’s eyes.

“Then we should definitely watch it! My place is cluttered as hell and has most of Gaius’s crap everywhere, but I brought up my own TV,” Arthur turned, cottage cheese in hand, to see Merlin’s infectious grin from the barstool, his fingers drumming against the table with energy. “I could always bring it back here, but we always hang out here.”

“I –” Arthur cleared his throat, voice sticky, as anxiety welled up in the pit of his stomach. “Well, I –”

Merlin smiled softly at him, though it was accompanied with an eye roll. “Been awhile since you let this house out of your sight?”

Arthur chose to nod rather than speak, mainly because he didn’t trust himself not to say something stupid.

“We can watch it here, I don’t mind,” Merlin smiled, ever understanding. Arthur cleared his throat again.

“You – I figured that you go home in the evenings to work on your book,” Arthur tried to justify his discomfort, deflect, like he used to when he knew people. “I mean, you’re here all day and then leave at dinner time. I don’t want to get in the way of your writing –”

“Stop being a prat,” Merlin rolled his eyes again, and took a step toward Arthur before quickly falling back onto the heels of his feet. “I’ll go get the movie and bring it back here, yeah?”

“I’m not going to have you walk all the way there and back,” Arthur pointed out, a little affronted. “I’ll come with you and we’ll watch it there. It’s fine. It doesn’t bother me.”

Strangely, he found that he was telling the truth.

“You sure?” Merlin asked hesitantly, and Arthur stormed toward the door, mainly to prove that he could.

It took Merlin a minute to catch up with him, but ten minutes later they were at a cabin that Arthur had only visited a couple of times before, and then it had been to make sure an old man hadn’t fallen and broken his hip.

Merlin had told the truth about the clutter; clothes and papers were strewn across the floor, and Merlin made a face when Arthur raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hold on, it’s in my room – just a sec,” he called over his shoulder, leaving Arthur in the sitting room, smaller than his own, but somehow homier, a single large, plush sofa connected to a tiny kitchenette, a television balanced precariously on a wooden shelf.

There was a laptop on the kitchen counter, open to a Word document, and Arthur couldn’t help himself but take a quick peak, since Merlin lacked the ability, much as Arthur himself, to be forthcoming.

It was a mess of notes – maybe a list of ideas, definitely not a manuscript. Arthur read the first line – _starts with drowning_ – before Merlin appeared at his shoulder.

“Oh, I forgot I left that on,” Merlin sidestepped Arthur to shut the computer. Arthur couldn’t help but feel a flash of disappointment. “Anyway, you ready to watch?”

“Alright,” Arthur said, but didn’t move, not even when Merlin gestured toward the couch. Instead, he asked, “Merlin, what’s your book about?”

He hadn’t asked directly before, and Merlin looked a little off-put by the question, which was – well, a little suspicious.

“A girl,” he said finally, “who lives in a lake. Now are we watching a movie or not?”

* * *

 

As it turned out, Michael Keaton and Arthur were having simultaneous mental breakdowns.

As Arthur surveyed Merlin, ever-relaxed from the opposite side of the couch, his heart raced with the dread of possibilities.

Merlin didn’t like talking about himself – he talked about others in his life, about his mum, and Gaius, and his best mate, Will, but when he talked about himself it was always in conjunction to others. He didn’t like to talk about his life leading up to living in Gaius’s cabin, he was shifty about his reasons for being here, and Arthur was rather certain that he had just lied to him about the book.

If this was something of his father’s doing – if the only person Arthur had ever felt so _connected_ to was spying on him –

His father wouldn’t do that.

It had been six years. Surely he must have better things to do.

The last person Arthur had caught had been more than three years ago, and even then it hadn’t been in the woods, it’d been at the supermarket in the next town over.

Merlin had this cabin, surely he hadn’t _stolen_ it from Gaius, but maybe Uther knew Gaius somehow, maybe –

Maybe Arthur was too paranoid.

Maybe he just couldn’t deal with the fact that he finally had something like a _friend_ and was trying to push him away so he wouldn’t get hurt.

Maybe Merlin _was_ hiding something.

“Arthur? Arthur?”

Arthur suddenly realized there was pressure on his shoulder. He turned to see Merlin’s wide, concerned gaze on his own, arms on Arthur’s shoulder blades, pressing just slightly.

“Shit, don’t scare me like, that, mate,” Merlin let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for minutes. You were completely out of it. Are you alright?”

Arthur shoved at Merlin, hard as he could, vision blurring, and he felt his body quake with the effort.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s eyes flashed, his voice almost angry, but he still got right back into Arthur’s face, just like Arthur knew he would. “Oh, God, you’re shaking. Are you – do I need to call –”

Arthur’s throat felt like lead. “Panic –”

“Attack,” Merlin finished for him, fumbling the remote with one hand to mute the movie. Arthur felt a rush of embarrassment creeping up on him even throughout his labored breaths. He’d never had a panic attack in front of anyone before, he barely had them now that he had been alone for so long, why this, why now, why –

“Did my father –” Arthur heard the rasp in his voice as Merlin disappeared from his side only to reappear with a glass of water that Arthur gulped down quickly. “Did he – are you here because of him?”

“What?” Merlin’s breath came out confused, almost afraid, eyes showing no recognition. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, oh thank God,” Arthur felt all of his breath rush out of his body, his breathing slowly to normal, maybe aided by the fact that Merlin’s hand trailed over the small of his back. “I’m so – thank God. I wanted – this to be real, so badly.”

He couldn’t help himself from pressing his body against Merlin’s in a hug, arms wrapped around Merlin’s torso, burying his nose in the dark hair at the name of his neck. He breathed in shakily, but he could feel himself returning to normal.

Merlin, to his credit, simply hugged Arthur back tightly, nearly knocking his breath away again. They sat like that for a long time, longer than Arthur cared to think, but it was still too soon when Merlin broke away, eyes heavy but still so understanding, so caring.

“Arthur…you….I can’t just let this go. I need an explanation,” Merlin said quietly, and Arthur didn’t even feel a thrill of panic, just a dull thump in his chest. He knew that Merlin was right. “But not tonight, okay? Tomorrow I’ll come over for breakfast like usual, and we can talk then. I’ll – I’ll just walk you back to your place now, yeah? Make sure you’ll be alright.”

Arthur just nodded, relief coursing through his body that he could have a night to sleep, that he could have time to process, to ponder, to decide how this should be done.

But by the time they had finished stumbling through the woods and Arthur got back to his bedroom, he found himself too exhausted to think, to move, to do anything but lay there on top of the sheets and flicker in and out of consciousness.

He thought he must have dreamt Merlin pressing his lips to Arthur’s forehead as he whispered “Good night.”

* * *

 

“So,” Merlin regarded him with a half-frown instead of his usual half-smile over a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Will you tell me about your father? And why you thought I was – I don’t know, working for him? It was hard to follow what you were saying.”

“I –” Arthur cleared his throat purposefully, voice drawn higher and mightier than he had done in years. He had never told anyone these specifics before. He wondered if he even could. “Have you ever heard of Uther Pendragon?”

“Oh, um – I recognize the name – isn’t he a business mogul, or –” Merlin trailed off, eyes narrowing. “That’s your father.”

Arthur nodded in assent.

“You told me your last name was Scott.”

“I changed it,” Arthur admitted. “After – well, after coming here. My father told me I wasn’t fit to bear the Pendragon name any longer. Or to live in public society.”

“Um – what?” Merlin blinked at him a few times as Arthur smiled humorlessly.

“My father still thinks he lives in an era where he can banish people who displease him and, well – with some people, he can.”

“Be more vague,” Merlin deadpanned, and Arthur shot him a real grin this time, a nice lull in the dull panic in his chest.

“I have a sister. But neither of us knew we were siblings until we were in our twenties – my father had kept it hidden from us. Morgana was furious when she found out – he had left her mother to fend for herself, you see. And so she cooked up a scheme to steal his money from him – she didn’t tell me this, of course, she thought I was just his pawn. And I was. I worked for his company, followed his every order, asked ‘how high?’ when he told me to jump – I was the perfect son.”

Feelings twisted bitterly in his stomach, but Arthur pressed onward, not chancing a look at Merlin’s face.

“But Morgana was caught, and Uther sent her to jail without a thought – the public didn’t know she was his daughter, you see, so he faced no public shame for that. But when his son, widely known public figure, tried to break her out of prison –”

“Holy shit,” Merlin sucked in a breath, and Arthur bit his lip so hard he felt a bead of blood.

“Uther cut a deal with the police,” Arthur said miserably. “He got to decide what to do with me. I wouldn’t go to prison like Morgana – but I would never disgrace him again, and was no longer fit to be called his son. I’ve been here ever since, and sometimes he has people – check up on me. I never thought it could be you, until, well – I know you lied to me the other day. About your novel. And I guess being alone out here for so long has made me a paranoid bastard.”

Arthur broke off, and Merlin was quiet for a few moments before saying slowly “Alright. That – that sounded like the plot of some weird indie film. But I believe you, alright? I do. Holy shit, Arthur, no wonder you’re so fucked up.”

“I appreciate your bluntness,” Arthur said dryly while Merlin winced.

“Not – I didn’t mean in a bad way,” Merlin’s half-smile was back, curling at the corners of his lips. “I like you just the way you are.”

Arthur’s heart stuttered just slightly. “Even with – with the panic attacks, and the social ineptitude, and the tragic backstory –”

“Who doesn’t have Daddy Issues these days?” Merlin said flippantly, a breezy smile on his face as if nothing had changed between them.

“Thank you,” Arthur breathed a prayer of thanks to whomever had given Merlin to him; his first friend, his only confidante, his –

He leaned across the small table space between them slowly, gazing at Merlin’s eyes, bright blue, in their unceasingly genuine fashion, and they were squinting at Arthur like they had never seen the likes of him before –

But Merlin stopped him from getting any closer with a hand on his shoulder, eyes tearing away.

Defeat – crushing defeat – swept through Arthur’s body.

“You were only half-right,” Merlin said, voice unusually quiet, and the panic and worry Arthur usually found in his own voice were suddenly very, very evident in Merlin’s. “I wasn’t – quite lying to you. I am a writer, and I’m trying to finish my book – well, more like start it – but – that’s not the main reason I’m here.”

“Why, then?” Arthur asked, half-confused and half-relieved that he hadn’t been so far off in his evaluation of Merlin’s character.

“Just before I came here –” Merlin broke off with a wince. “…My girlfriend died.”

Of all the things Arthur had been wondering about, that thought had never occurred to him. First, pity for Merlin swept over him like a wave, then utter confusion – simple, carefree, easy, utterly _happy_  Merlin had been in mourning?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Merlin shot him a half-guilty look. “I wasn’t trying to lie to you, I just – it was too hard. And being alone, in that cabin – I would have gone insane, the same as I was going in the city. I never – at first I was coming here as a way to distract myself, to pretend like I was alright with someone who didn’t know me, couldn’t read me, couldn’t tell.”

Hurt seeped through Arthur at that idea – of being _used_ like that, being a distraction to the only man who he had ever thought of as a friend –

But then Merlin took Arthur’s hand and squeezed. “But then it became so much _more_ than that. It was…it _is_ exactly what I need. It’s not a distraction; it’s moving on, learning to be okay. You helped me _enjoy_ my life again, Arthur. I – I love being here with you. But part of me also feels – well, guilty about how much I like you.”

Merlin looked down with a flush on his cheeks and Arthur’s heart started beating loudly enough for him to hear it.

“I was only with Freya for eight months – and I cared about her, really, maybe I even loved her – but at the funeral, people kept acting like I was the love of her life, and that’s not – it just made me feel guiltier. Like I would be betraying her memory by living my life when she had only been a small part of it. She was wonderful, I’ll miss her forever – but not enough to stop living, you know? And here, Arthur, with you…I feel more alive than I ever have before.”

Merlin’s genuineness shone throne his words, his eyes, the way he ran a finger down Arthur’s palm, and Arthur, out of words, leaned in again.

“Hey,” Merlin turned his head to press his forehead against Arthur’s. “Not yet, alright? I need to – to get through the guilt first. To make sure that this is – that I’m okay with this.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arthur murmured, leaning against him harder, gripping his hands tightly enough so that it would take a crowbar to pull them apart. “I wouldn’t have – been so –”

“Didn’t want you to treat me differently,” Merlin whispered back. “Will – will you now?”

“Yes,” Arthur admitted, and he could tell that Merlin was preparing to make a convincing counterargument, but he quickly cut him off with, “but not because of that. Because – because you know _my_ secret now. And I know yours. We’re not just – we’re – _friends_ , aren’t we?”

“Idiot,” Merlin chuckled, pulling away to give Arthur the most dumbfounded look he could. “Of _course_ we’re friends. God. We were friends since the first day.”

“Good,” Arthur said, a warmth spreading in his stomach. “Is your book – I mean, is it really about a girl in a lake?”

Merlin’s grin turned somber again and Arthur regretted his question immediately. “Yeah. It’s – when she dies, she goes to the bottom of a magical lake in the most beautiful place on earth. That’s – I mean, that’s all I have so far, really. Nothing substantial.”

Arthur thought of this Freya – wondered what she was like, her appearance, her laugh, her quirks, if Merlin had looked at her like she was the most important thing on earth.

“Sounds like a good book,” was what he chose to articulate, and Merlin gave him that eye-crinkling half-smile that Arthur loved so much.

* * *

 

“Maybe it’s not just a girl at the bottom of the lake,” Merlin told him a few days later as they sat in the grass, picking weeds in Arthur’s backyard. “Maybe it’s an afterlife of a sort – not for a lot of people, mind you, but for – for special people.”

“What kind of special?” Arthur grunted as he pulled out a particularly long and nasty root.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said thoughtfully after a moment. “Maybe they died there? I’ll have to give it some thought.”

* * *

 

“There’s a different main character in the story – someone not in the lake, someone who’s not dead,” Merlin said after dinner on Saturday, from his spot on Arthur’s couch, feet drawn up to his chest under a thick blanket. “The dead souls in the lake – they’re all people that he loved.”

“What makes him different than everyone else; that his loved ones live in a lake instead of – I don’t know, heaven or hell?” Arthur asked, slipping the Jason Bourne movie into his DVD player. “There has to be something off about him.”

“Maybe he just loved them too much to let them go too far,” Merlin replied thoughtfully after a moment. Arthur just smiled over at him, used to Merlin’s tangents, to his strings of words that fit so well together, endlessly rolling off his tongue.

He’d never tell Merlin this, but Arthur could listen to him talk for hours and never get sick of the sound of his voice.

Merlin looked hesitantly over at Arthur, as if he were asking permission for something. Arthur realized what it was after only a moment, and it took him a moment more to make his way unsteadily toward Merlin’s spot on the couch, taking a seat so that their thighs were touching and Merlin put his arm around Arthur’s waist.

“Okay?” He asked, and the movie had  only barely begun when Arthur was leaning his entire body against Merlin’s own.

“You’ll stay tonight?” Arthur murmured to him a little later, sleepy but happier than he could remember being, no longer entrenched in his own loneliness. He knew he could lose all this soon, but Merlin – it seemed like Merlin wanted to stay.

“Yeah,” Merlin said in response, affection pouring out of the simple word.

* * *

 

“Merlin, Merlin, wake up, please, you’re shaking, wake up, Merlin, _wake up_!”

Merlin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, sweat pouring from his face as Arthur shook him awake desperately, not knowing how to deal with this – Arthur had been having panic attacks since he was a teenager, but he had never had a nightmare like this before – for surely that was what this was, with Merlin being so unresponsive – oh, God, please - "

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed a moment later and air rushed back into Arthur’s lungs as relief crashed over him.

“Hey,” Arthur hoped Merlin could see his smile in the darkness. “You alright?”

“I dreamed you drowned,” Merlin’s voice was full of both wonderment and pain, and Arthur wanted to respond, but Merlin kissed him before he could.

* * *

 

“I really do like the woods, you know,” Arthur told Merlin as they drank morning coffee on Arthur’s back deck and watched Bob try to catch a squirrel. “I thought I would hate it when I first came here – but I don’t anymore.”

“I’m glad you don’t,” Merlin said quietly, and it sounded like a promise.


End file.
